


The Castellan's Shadow

by illogicalbroccoli



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, background Jake Sisko/Nog, discussion of homophobic laws, discussion of homophoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illogicalbroccoli/pseuds/illogicalbroccoli
Summary: Intrepid reporter Jake Sisko sits down to interview Castellan Garak's close confidante, Doctor Kelas Parmak.  It does not go entirely as planned...





	The Castellan's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> First, I have to thank apolesen for very thorough and sensitive betaing. 
> 
> Parmak's family and early life are based on things apolesen developed in the excellent Garak/Parmak fic Love in a Time of Oppression (which everyone should read). The cartoon was also apolesen's idea!
> 
> This takes place at some point between Una McCormack's excellent Cardassian novels, Crimson Shadow and Enigma Tales

 

> “The Castellan’s Shadow: An Exclusive Interview with Doctor Kelas Parmak”  
>  By Jake Sisko  
>  Doctor Kelas Parmak is not a name that most people in the Federation will recognise. On Cardassia, however, it would be hard to find anyone who has not heard of the onetime family doctor. Many Cardassians no doubt remember Doctor Parmak as one of the founding members, along with the late Alon Ghemor, of the Reunion Movement which led, eventually, to the current democratic constitution. Even Cardassians who are not intimately familiar with that history, however, would probably recognise the doctor from his proximity to Cardassia’s head of state, Castellan Elim Garak. Wherever Garak goes, there is a good chance that Doctor Parmak will also be found, trying to be as inconspicuous as a tall, white-haired, bespectacled Cardassian can. Indeed, so inseparable does Doctor Parmak seem from the Cardassian leader that some of the local press have begun referring to him as “The Castellan’s Shadow.”  
>  In addition to serving as Elim Garak’s personal physician, Doctor Parmak is one of the Castellan’s closest advisers. He has served on a number of special commissions set up to modernise and equalise Cardassia’s health care system. Despite his closeness to the highest levels of the Cardassian government, Doctor Parmak has tended to shy away from publicity. He has rarely spoken in public since his days in the Reunion Movement, and, until now, has refused all requests for interviews from both Cardassian and off-world media. _Focus_ , however, is proud to be the first media outlet to score an exclusive interview with the elusive Doctor Kelas Parmak. On a windy autumn day in the Cardassian capital, I sat down with him in a reception room of the Union House, the residence and workplace of the Castellan.

Jake lifted his hands from the typepad, pushed his chair away from the desk, and leaned back to stare at the ceiling.

 _So far, so good,_ he thought

But then, this was the easy part. The hard decisions would come later.

“Computer,” he said. “Begin playback of file Parmak One.”

His office computer chimed as it loaded the file. Jake scooted back to the desk and prepared to start transcribing. He could just have told the computer to produce a text file, but he found the action of typing soothing. He liked to imagine himself as a reporter from one of the twentieth-century films that his father had enjoyed, pecking at a typewriter in a cluttered, smoke-filled basement office. Another chime announced that the recording was about to begin. As it did, Jake’s hands descended to the pad, his fingers mechanically moving as his own voice filled the air.

> JS: Doctor Parmak, I want to thank you for agreeing to talk to us. I know that people throughout the Federation are going to be fascinated to hear what you have to say. Cardassia is still something of a mystery to most of us, and being able to hear from someone so close to the heart of things is a rare privilege.
> 
> KP: That’s a very flattering characterisation, Mr. Sisko, but I am afraid much-exaggerated. I am not a minister or a deputy, my role is simply to take care of the Castellan’s health.
> 
> JS: I was told you were modest! We’ll get to your association with Castellan Garak soon, but I thought my readers might want to get to know you a bit first. And please, just call me Jake.
> 
> KP: Very well… Jake.

The recording went quiet for a moment, and Jake’s mind went back to the well-furnished, but completely anonymous room in which they had held the interview.

 

_Parmak looked suddenly awkward, and had begun unconsciously stroking his white braid while he looked at a point over Jake’s right shoulder._

_“Is everything OK, Doctor Parmak?” Jake asked._

_“I’m sorry, yes,” came the reply. “Just, slightly, what’s your phrase? Taken backwards?”_

_Jake noticed that Parmak pronuonced the “w” as a “v” – “backvards.” Being used to Garak’s impeccable Federation Standard, Jake had found Parmak’s Cardassian accent a bit startling. But then, the man had not left the Cardassian Union for most of his life, and had probably learned Standard solely from recordings. His grasp of the Federation’s language was actually quite impressive, all things considered._

_“Taken aback,” Jake said. Parmak nodded eagerly._

_“I hope I haven’t done something rude?” Jake asked._

_“No no!” Parmak said quickly. He smiled, slightly awkwardly. “It is just, among Cardassians, to address someone by a first name is rare. It is only done with family members, or people of similar closeness. So for a moment, I was startled.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “You can call me Mr. Sisko if you want! It’s just, when I hear that, I usually think of my grandpa.”_

_Parmak relaxed slightly, at that, sank a bit more into his armchair._

_“I am happy to call you Jake,” he said. “There is no reason to impose our ways upon others. We have had quite enough of that in the past!”_

_Jake smiled, as Parmak absently flicked back a hair that had fallen across his face. The old doctor was immediately likeable – there was a delicacy to him, what might be called old-world charm, that was surprisingly disarming. Which might, Jake thought, be something to watch out for._

_“Now,” Parmak said. “What did you want to know?”_

 

Jake snapped back into the present.

“Computer, pause playback.”

Throughout his reverie, his fingers had been moving more or less of their own accord, taking down their awkward exchange. Now Jake frowned and read it over, wondering if he should include it in the article. It was quite trivial, but perhaps it gave a little insight into Parmak’s character? Or into Cardassian society? He shrugged, highlighted the dialogue, and resolved to come back to it later.

“Computer, resume playback,” he said, and began to type again.

> JS: Whatever you want to tell us, really. We want to get to know the real Kelas Parmak! We can start with your family, where you came from, that sort of thing.
> 
> KP: Of course. My childhood seems very humdrum to me, but I suppose for those in the Federation, it will all be very exotic. Let me see. I was born in Lakarian City, which was the second city of the Cardassian Union in those days. It was a very old city, much older than the capital. In fact, it once was the capital of Cardassia, before the present city was built. I remember, as a schoolchild, being taken to the great square of the city, being shown the statue of the Five Legates, the ruins of Tokat’s House, the old Consiliar Building… I’m sorry, this will mean very little to your readers. It is just, I feel I owe it to Lakarian to remember. The city is gone now, of course. Destroyed by the Dominion. It lives only in the old books, in pictures, in the memories of old men like me… Forgive me, Jake. I am not a trained speaker, and I have a tendency to ramble. Please do not hesitate to put me back on track.
> 
> JS: No, it’s fascinating. I wish we had time to talk about everything! But yeah, we should probably press on. What was your family like?
> 
> KP: Fairly average, I think, for Cardassians of their time. Firmly middle-class. I was the middle child, between two sisters. My father was a civil engineer, working for the Ministry of Construction. My mother was a musician. She played in the Lakarian Philharmonic, on the repat.
> 
> JS: The repat?
> 
> KP: A Bajoran bowed instrument. Something like an Andorian k’mok, I think, or a Terran cello. There was a vogue among composers in those days for incorporating Bajoran instruments into their works.
> 
> JS: I didn’t realise that Cardassia borrowed from the Bajorans.
> 
> KP: Oh yes! Bajoran music, architecture, artistic styles – we’ve drawn on them all. Of course, in those days the official line was that Bajorans were primitives whose culture was only of interest as an anthropological curiosity, but nevertheless, you cannot completely crush people’s curiosity. There is a painter, Omara Gerat -- very popular when I was young. She drew extensively on Bajoran icon-painting conventions in her portraits. Why, to this day there are hasperat takeaway shops all across the Union.
> 
> JS: Do you think your mother’s connection to Bajor was part of what inspired you to question the old regime?
> 
> KP: It would be a nice thought. But we did not discuss politics in my family, and in any case she died when I was only ten years old. My sister Kerisa largely raised me after that. But in a way, I suppose, my mother did unwittingly set me on the path to dissidence. She is the one from whom I inherited my condition.
> 
> JS: Your condition? Is that why you wear glasses? I wondered – in the Federation, we’d give you retinax.
> 
> KP: There was no comparable medication for Cardassians. Surgery was considered, but it is expensive, and there were few doctors available who could perform it – myopia is much less common among Cardassians. But yes, my condition is responsible for my poor eyesight. Also my hair – while at my age, its whiteness is perhaps not as surprising, it has never been any other colour. Also, my body has never been either strong or sturdy, and my heart is weaker than normal. My sister Zina had the worse of it: she is completely blind, and suffers from congenitally brittle bones. But my own physical condition was bad enough that it kept me from ever joining the Pioneers.
> 
> JS: Pioneers?
> 
> KP: The Cardassian Pioneers. The youth movement of the old regime. Lots of long-distance hikes, simulated combat, learning the glorious history of Cardassia. Fundamentally, it was an indoctrination organization. Instead of taking part, I was largely left to my own devices, or drafted into helping Kerisa care for my younger sister. My exemption was a gift in two ways. First, I avoided the relentless stream of propaganda with which Pioneers were bombarded. And second, it gave me a great deal of time to think for myself, a dangerous habit to develop in those days.

 Jake paused the playback again, and cracked his knuckles. Given Parmak’s reputation for reticence with the media, Jake had been wondering how hard it would be to get things out of the doctor. As it was, it appeared that the difficulty was getting him to stop. Parmak had spent some forty minutes reminiscing about his childhood and adolescence: how his mother’s illness and Zina’s condition led him to discover his compassion for the sick and his fascination with the mysteries of the body; being bullied in school for his strange looks, his lack of a mother, his annoying, inconvenient questions in class. Arguing with his family about his choice of profession, ultimately choosing not to follow his father into the Institute of Engineering and instead studying medicine at the University of the Union. It was all fascinating. And much too much. Perhaps it could be summarised…

“Computer, jump to the fifty-minute mark and continue playback,” he ordered

>  KP: ...five year program. It was during the penultimate year of my medical degree that I became truly radicalised, as it were. As part of our training, we were obliged to spend some time working in one of the more poorly funded and understaffed hospitals of the Union Capital. To be honest, I believe that it was as much out of a desire for free labour as anything else. But I did learn from it, all the same, though probably not the lessons my instructors expected. I was sent to the hospital in North Torr, which was – really, still is – one of the poorest and most neglected districts of the capital. Most of my fellow-students saw it as a kind of exile. They talked about it as a sort of rite of passage, nothing more -- something they had to endure as the price of the lucrative careers that awaited them. I, however, was horrified. Until that point, I had not realised such misery existed anywhere in the Cardassian Union, let alone in its first city. I saw people suffering from conditions that our textbooks told us had been eradicated for centuries. Children so malnourished that you’d have thought we were in a famine zone. Gravid women dying from desperate attempts at termination. All of it eminently preventable, if the government cared to do anything. It became increasingly clear to me that it did not. After that experience, I was not the same. I sought out like-minded students, joined subversive organisations. We read banned literature, both works produced on Cardassia and those smuggled in from outside. Works on economic justice, civic rights, government accountability. I began to realise that the suffering I had seen was not merely the result of indifference or incompetence, but existed by design. I committed myself to changing things, in whatever way I could.

“Tea?”

Jake started as the new voice interrupted the recording. Caught up in Parmak’s narration, he had completely forgotten about the young aide who had entered the room with a cart of steaming pots. He lifted his hands from the pad while the sound of clinking glass came over the speakers, his mind drifting back to the small, bland room.

 

_“_ _I took the liberty of ordering some refreshments,” Parmak said apologetically. “I had hoped they would be here by the time you arrived, but, well, here we are.”_

_“It’s fine,” Jake replied._

_“Have you tried redleaf tea before?”_

_Jake nodded._

_“I had it sometimes when I lived on Deep Space Nine. I always enjoyed it.”_

_“Oh, of course! How foolish of me to ask. Topal, a cup for myself and Mr. Sisko.”_

_The aide nodded and poured the tea into two egg-shaped glasses. Jake inhaled the fragrant steam for a moment, then sipped it slowly. As he did, Topal wheeled the cart out and silently closed the door._

_Parmak also sipped his tea, and Jake noticed how his glasses fogged up in the steam. He rarely saw eyeglasses outside of the Holosuite, and he thought about how much they matched Parmak’s slightly fusty, old-fashioned image._

_“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. – Jake,” Parmak said after a moment. “I fear I have completely forgotten where I was.”_

_“It’s OK, Doctor. You were telling me about medical school, how you became a dissident. Now, am I right in thinking you continued those activities after you graduated?”_

_“Yes,” Parmak said. “I did.”_

_Jake paused expectantly, giving the Cardassian space to continue. But he didn’t. Having just spent more than half an hour talking almost continuously about his past, Parmak suddenly seemed unwilling to talk._

_“What sort of activities did you do? Were you involved in the revolution against Central Command in ’72?”_

_“That was not a revolution, it was a coup d’état. A minor re-arrangement of the state leadership. The Detapa Council were a group of complacent, unimaginative fossils – did you know that in those days it was common to refer to the Council Chamber as the “Natural History Museum”? Now, what happened at the end of the Dominion occupation, that was a revolution – the people of Cardassia as a whole rose up and defied their rulers.”_

_Parmak paused, and then smiled ruefully._

_“Forgive me, that is a subject I tend to get worked up over. But coming back to my own story, to support myself, I opened a general practice in Paldar, which is the well-to-do middle-class section of the capital. There, most of my clients were members of Cardassia’s comfortable professional class: bureaucrats, middle-managers, housewives. At the same time, I continued trying to help the less fortunate. I volunteered at the hospital in North Torr, treating those who had no other access to medical care. At my practice, I provided contraception, arranged access to terminations, helped refer patients to what little decent mental health care existed in those days. I also forged medical exemption papers for young men seeking to escape the draft, and distributed medical information to counter the misinformation and superstition that bedevilled so many Cardassians in those days. Outside of work, I carried on attending meetings of dissidents. In retrospect, much of what we did seems rather futile now. We debated political and economic theory, drew up grand plans for what the new Cardassia would look like. We wrote articles critical of the government, and snuck them into places where people might find them – inside library books, under omnibus seats, that sort of thing. We were all great idealists, and we truly thought that our efforts might lead to the fall of the regime. It was quite the time.”_

_Parmak fell silent, an expression somewhere between sorrow and nostalgia flitting across his face. As the silence lengthened, Jake shifted uncomfortably._

_“Am I right in thinking you spent time in a labour camp?”_

_Jake immediately wished he had spoken less bluntly. Parmak’s breath caught, and his teacup shook in his hand, spilling tea across the tabletop._

_“I’m sorry – ” Jake said, as Parmak carefully set the cup down._

_“It is all right,” Parmak replied. “You must realize, it is not an easy thing for me to talk about.”_

_“I understand,” Jake said. “I – I’m not asking you to relive anything. It’s just, I think it’s important for our readers to understand what the stakes were, in those days. That the Obsidian Order could give someone three years’ hard labour just for writing a few pamphlets.”_

_Parmak nodded slowly._

_“Yes. Those times were terrible.”_

_Silence again._

_Jake began to wonder if there were some way he could steer the conversation away from this topic. He was starting to worry that Parmak might cut the interview short if he got any more agitated. And there were so many things he needed to ask!_

_“It’s ironic, in a way,” he said._

_Parmak cocked his head._

_“That you and Elim Garak should be so close now, when back in the day you were literally on opposite sides.”_

_Jake had hoped that Parmak might chuckle at that, but if anything he seemed to grow still graver. He looked down at his lap, and began absently stroking one of his hands with the other. Jake wondered if he should say something. After several long moments, the older man raised his head and looked at Jake. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and the pale eyes that looked over the frames were moist._

_“I beg your pardon, Mr. Sisko. I think I may need to excuse myself for a few minutes. Please bear with me.”_

 

Jake winced at the memory. Listening to his own breath on the recording, the occasional creaking of the sofa as he had shifted uncomfortably, he remembered his own guilt and anxiety. He had wondered if Parmak would be coming back. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t. He had looked around the bland walls, the green curtains, the faux-leather sofas. The Union House was a modern building, put up in the aftermath of the Dominion War. The enthusiastic official who had brought him in had said it was a fine example of Cardassian neo-modernism; Jake had concluded that that was a polite euphemism for ‘boring as hell.’

“Computer, skip forward twelve minutes.”

He could say accurately about how long the wait was – he had been checking the time every ten seconds or so throughout it. When the door opened, Jake half-expected it to reveal a functionary come to escort him off the premises. Instead, it was Parmak again, with an apologetic half-smile. The Cardassian had apologised, mumbled something about being old and overtaxed, and seated himself opposite Jake again.

“I think,” Parmak’s voice came out of the recording, “that perhaps we ought to move to more contemporary matters. The past can be a dangerous place to linger, on Cardassia.”

Jake froze the recording, wondering if he should include that last episode in the article. It might be good for the readers to know about Parmak’s discomfort – it could help make him more real to them, and also bring home how oppressive the old regime had been. But was it fair? Or would it be an intrusion into what were clearly very intense and private feelings?

Jake sighed. He could figure that out later. The recording wasn’t going anywhere. And there was another decision he had to make first.

“Computer, resume playback.” 

> JS: Fair enough. There’s plenty to talk about there! As I was saying earlier, you’re well known on Cardassia as one of Elim Garak’s inner circle.
> 
> KP: I really do think that my significance has been much exaggerated. It’s true, I am the Castellan’s physician, and that necessitates a degree of close contact, but I am hardly a member of cabinet!
> 
> JS: You’re more than just Garak’s physician though, aren’t you?
> 
> KP: What do you mean?
> 
> JS: Well, you’ve been involved in drafting legislation. You were a member of the Executive Commission on Healthcare Reform, and you were  
>  included in the delegation that negotiated the medical co-operation agreement with the Federation.
> 
> KP: My voice was only one of many; the other commissioners and negotiators had far more expertise and experience than I did.
> 
> JS: Well, isn’t that one of the surprising things?
> 
> KP: What do you mean?
> 
> JS: That a general practitioner would be appointed to those kinds of posts at all.
> 
> KP: The Castellan thought my experience in dealing with the health of some of Cardassia’s most deprived would allow me to provide useful perspectives.
> 
> JS: You knew Garak before he became Castellan, isn’t that correct?
> 
> KP: I’ve been his physician and his friend for many years. Almost since he returned to Cardassia.
> 
> JS: Is that all you are?
> 
> KP: I beg your pardon?
> 
> JS: I’m sorry to be blunt, but you must know about the rumours about your relationship.

Jake stopped typing and bit his lip, remembering Parmak’s startled reaction. He had paused, blinking rapidly. The openness with which he had greeted Jake was gone now, replaced by wariness, and perhaps even suspicion. Jake paused the recording, but in his memory the conversation continued to unfold.

 

_“What sort of rumours,” Parmak said slowly._

_Jake took a deep breath._

“The Cardassian Truth-Teller _carried an article a few days ago suggesting that the Castellan has a serious, potentially life-threatening medical condition, and that your job is to keep him upright so the public do not find out. Last year, I’m told, there was a rumour going around the net that Garak never ceased to be an Obsidian Order agent, and that you are his handler; that you are both waiting for the right moment to refound the Order and bring back the bad old days.”_

_To Jake’s surprise, Parmak began to laugh._

_“Oh, those rumours! They are truly wonderful! You missed out one of the best ones. It was shortly after Elim became Castellan. People stared suggesting that Elim was purely a puppet, perhaps even an android, and that I was the true power behind the throne! Me, the ruler of Cardassia!”_

_Parmak chuckled and then composed himself._

_“It should be clear to you just how seriously one should take any of those stories. Elim Garak is in very good health for a man of his age. And you do not need to take my word – the Castellan is examined monthly at the Central Hospital, by a team randomly selected each time from among the top doctors in the Capital. The results of those examinations are all publicly available. As for the other rumours… The Obsidian Order is gone. It died in the Gamma Quadrant. It is true that Garak was once an operative, but those days are long behind him, and he has dedicated his life for many years now to eradicating the Order’s pernicious legacy. And the suggestion that I would ever support a restored Order, after what they put me through, goes beyond absurd to insulting.”_

_“And I assume the Castellan is not, in fact, an android?” Jake said._

_Parmak shook his head._

_“I am sure he would be far easier to deal with if he were,” he said._

 

Jake took a deep breath. They were nearly at the crunch point. He flexed his fingers and told the computer to resume, mechanically typing through the conversation he had just relived. And then the recording caught up to his memory, and the moment had come. 

> JS: You mentioned your role in reforming Cardassian law. This brings up a point that I know many of our readers will be concerned about.
> 
> KP: Go on.
> 
> JS: As I’m sure you know, there are a number of laws still on the books that date from before the Dominion War, even before the fall of Central Command.
> 
> KP: Indeed. In the aftermath of the Fire, we had to rush to rebuild our institutions. Anything that provided any kind of framework was necessary. There was neither the time nor the capacity to do any wholesale revision. But since then, the Cardassian Assembly, under both Castellan Garak and his predecessor, have worked hard to make our laws more modern and compassionate.
> 
> JS: But not all of them.
> 
> KP: I beg your pardon?
> 
> JS: There are some laws that neither Rakena Garan nor Elim Garak have shown any interest in touching. I’m talking about the laws on what is referred to as “Immoral Practices.”
> 
> KP: I see.
> 
> JS: These laws make it illegal for two people of the same sex to engage in any kind of intimate contact, and prescribe a minimum punishment of  
>  two years’ hard labour. Is that accurate? Have we translated them properly?
> 
> KP: That is accurate.
> 
> JS: Doctor Parmak, to most of the Federation, what these laws condemn is an entirely normal activity. Those who follow Cardassian affairs are quite honestly disgusted that Cardassia continues to treat normal and natural relationships as a crime.
> 
> KP: Did you have a question?
> 
> JS: You seem to be a man of great empathy. You’ve worked all your life to fight oppression. You have the ear of the Castellan. Can you tell our readers if anything is being done to alter these laws?
> 
> KP: I’m not privy to that kind of discussion.
> 
> JS: Can you at least tell me your own opinion? As a physician? As a close confidante of the Castellan? As a Cardassian citizen? Should these laws still be on the books?
> 
> KP: You cannot ask me this.

“Computer, pause!”

Jake stood up and walked to the window. The sun was setting, and a couple of stars could be seen over the trees. He inhaled, held the breath a few seconds, then exhaled. He didn’t walk back to his desk, but instead went over the the couch and lay down. He closed his eyes, and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. No putting it off now.

“Computer, resume,” he said, and let his mind bring him back to Cardassia.

 

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_Parmak took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Without them, he looked younger, somehow, and more vulnerable._

_“You… you cannot ask me this, Jake.”_

_Jake furrowed his brow._

_“You mean you can’t answer?”_

_“You cannot ask it!” Parmak repeated, more heatedly._

_Jake put down his teacup._

_“The Federation has a free press, Doctor Parmak,” he said. “And my understanding was that Cardassia does too, now.”_

_Parmak replaced his glasses and looked at Jake. His expression had become guarded, and Jake had a glimpse of the steel that lay underneath the Cardassian’s avuncular exterior. It had to have been there, of course. You didn’t survive as a dissident in the days of CentCom and the Order without it._

_“For the sake of Cardassia, for the sake of our relations with the Federation, for the sake of Elim Garak, you must not continue this line of questioning,” Parmak said. His tone was even, but Jake could sense the emotion behind it._

_“Doctor Parmak, this is an important issue. If Cardassia wants to be a Federation ally, then the people of the Federation have the right to know if anything is being done to change laws that are repugnant to their values!”_

_Parmak began fiddling with his braid. Jake noticed that his hand was shaking slightly, and when he spoke a stammer crept into his voice:_

_“This is a v-very contentious subject on Cardassia. It could be very destabilising to open up a debate at th-this point – ”_

_“So you admit that there is a debate to be had? That implies that you are not in complete agreement with the laws.”_

_“Oh dear,” Parmak said._

_“Look, Doctor,” Jake said. “Obviously, I can’t force you to answer. You can refuse. You can even end the interview. But I can ask, and I can write that you chose not to answer. That’s my right.”_

_“You think I am not aware of that?” Parmak snapped._

_Jake jerked backward. The idea that Parmak was even capable of speaking harshly, when Jake had begun the interview, would have seemed absurd. It was like being bitten by a tribble._

_“You think I am not crushingly aware of the irony of this?” Parmak went on. “After a lifetime fighting for civic rights, for the freedom of people to speak and write in accordance with their conscience, do you think it is easy for me to tell a reporter not to exercise his rights? It is not, Mr. Sisko! But equally, unless I want to see everything I have fought for fall to dust, I must make sure that this topic never makes it into print.”_

_“You keep saying that,” Jake said. “But unless you’re going to ask Elim Garak to have me arrested or disappeared, I don’t see that you’re in any position to make it happen! And unless you’re an even bigger hypocrite than you seem already, I don’t think you would do that.”_

_There was a pause. Parmak stared at Jake, blinking rapidly. Jake stared back, feeling a strange cocktail of emotions churning in his stomach. Why couldn’t the man just say that the laws needed changing? Sure, some more conservative Cardassians might be angry, but weren’t they already angry at Elim Garak’s administration? Parmak himself couldn’t be in favour of them, that would be absurd. Along with the anger, though, Jake felt a kind of guilt. His comment about Garak disappearing him had been cruel. To rub Parmak’s face in the past of a man he was so close to, to remind him that that man had once been part of the machine that had caused him so much suffering – surely Jake knew better than that. He was suddenly struck by a memory of Nog, not long after he had lost his leg. The shaking hands, the stammer, the sudden anger – it was all similar. Jake should have recognised the signs earlier: Parmak was clearly a man who carried a heavy weight of trauma. He had no wish to increase his suffering, but he was not about to let go of the issue either. It was too important._

_“You are right,” Parmak said._

_Jake blinked, as Parmak’s response pulled him out of his thoughts._

_“You are right,” Parmak repeated. “I am in no position to make demands. I can only beg. And, perhaps, persuade.”_

_“You haven’t done much persuading yet,” Jake said. It came out sounding more petulant than he had intended, but Parmak appeared to ignore his tone._

_“To explain would be, in essence, to answer,” Parmak said. “But I see I have no choice. I suppose it would be vain to ask you to turn off your recorder?”_

_“I’d really rather not,” Jake said. “I can’t force you to speak, but if you do want to tell me, I’d like it to be on the record.”_

_They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Parmak nodded._

_“Very well,” he said. “Let me show you something.”_

_He took out his PADD, tapped in a command, then handed it to Jake._

_“In your list of theories about myself and the Castellan, you missed one.”_

_What Jake saw on the screen appeared to be a cartoon. It was drawn very realistically, more like an artist’s sketch than a caricature. It showed a modest Cardassian home, and centred on an armchair next to an open window. In the chair sat Parmak – a very good likeness, although his features seemed to have been drawn as even more delicate than in life. He sat upright, his hands folded in his lap. His head was turned toward the window, a wistful expression on his face. On the windowsill, facing the viewer, was a framed portrait of Elim Garak. At the bottom of the picture was a single line of blocky Cardassian text._

_Jake looked up to meet Parmak’s gaze._

_“This is from Cardassia’s Awakening,” Parmak explained. “A very popular periodical among a certain segment of our society. It espouses what on might politely describe as reactionary sentiments.”_

_Jake looked down at the picture again._

_“I’m afraid I don’t understand the message.”_

_“If you were Cardassian, you would,” Parmak said. “The picture is based on a famous painting by Othek. It’s entitled ‘The Waiting Wife.’ It shows the wife of a Cardassian soldier who is stationed on Bajor, anxiously awaiting news of her husband’s return. This was published a few months ago, when Castellan Garak was on a state visit to Qo’nos. Do you understand now?”_

_Jake nodded. “I think I do.”_

_“The cartoonist is a talented artist,” Parmak went on, “but hardly subtle in his points. Unfortunately, on this rare occasion, his perception of reality is correct. Elim Garak and I are lovers.”_

_Parmak paused and looked at Jake._

_“You do not seem surprised,” he said after a moment._

_“To be honest, I’m not,” Jake said. “I kind of suspected you might be.”_

_Jake was surprised, however, when, on hearing this, Parmak threw back his head and gave a quick bark of laughter. A moment later, he noticed Jake’s puzzled expression._

_“I’m sorry,” he said. “To hear you speak of it so casually…”_

_He became grave again._

_“But this is just the point. To you, a Federation citizen, it perhaps is obvious. To Cardassians, it is almost unimaginable. At least, to most Cardassians. I am sure that others… others like myself would recognise Elim and me for what we are very quickly. But for most Cardassians, the notion would not even arise.”_

_“Except for this one,” Jake said, gesturing to the cartoon._

_“Even in his circles, Ano Ethara is seen as something of a, let me see, perhaps the word in your language would be ‘a crank.’ His readers would enjoy the slur on my masculinity, and the suggestion that I am too close to the Castellan, but few, I suspect, think of his cartoon as the literal truth.”_

_“Really?” Jake said, still struggling to imagine a world where Garak and Parmak’s relationship could not even be suspected._

_“Oh yes. For most Cardassians, ‘inverts’ – and that is the politest term that we can be called – are concepts, not people. To accuse a Cardassian of being an invert would be one of the worst insults imaginable. The invert is a devious, destructive, self-loathing creature of lust and shame. He is not your son, or your doctor, or your Castellan. And so, for the most part, it never occurs to anyone ever to think of anyone but their worst enemy as an invert.”_

_Jake sat silently for a moment, chewing over what Parmak had just said. “That’s – ”_

_Jake Sisko considered himself good at words. In his more self-indulgent moments, he liked to imagine himself as a painter of phrases, brushing dazzling strokes of language onto the canvas of his readers’ minds. Now, however, words failed him._

_“That’s awful,” he concluded weakly._

_Parmak simply nodded._

_“But that still doesn’t explain why you can’t answer,” Jake said. “Surely that’s all the more reason to speak out against these laws, to actually get a conversation started.”_

_Parmak shook his head emphatically._

_“To do so would be political suicide, for both myself and Elim.” Seeing Jake’s still-blank look, Parmak went on. “We commissioned a poll. Secretly, of course – only one person at the polling company, someone we knew we could trust, even knew that they were working for the Castellan’s Office. The results were… illuminating. 77% of those surveyed were in favour of maintaining the current laws. Of the remainder, 15% favoured making them harsher. Do you understand, Jake? There is no appetite on Cardassia for this discussion. I wish it were otherwise, with all of my being. But it is not.”_

_Now it was Jake’s turn to shake his head._

_“But – ”_

_“I have not finished,” Parmak said calmly. “The pollsters reported that by far the most comment they received on this poll was some variant of ‘are you some kind of deviant yourself?’ Though phrased much less politely, in most cases. Only an invert would even ask such a question, you see. So for me to respond to your question, or even to choose not to respond, to show anything other than full-fledged support for the laws in their current form, would be, in essence, to announce to all Cardassia that I am an invert. And if I am exposed, then the people, slow and unperceptive as they may be, are going eventually to start asking about my relationship with Elim.”_

_“And would that be such a bad thing?”_

_The question was out of Jake’s mouth before he even had a chance to think about it. Parmak looked shocked._

_“Maybe that’s what Cardassia needs,” Jake pressed on. “Garak is a popular Castellan. I’ve seen his approval ratings. Maybe if the people were to learn that he is, that he has a male partner, they might start to rethink things.”_

_Parmak gave a sad smile._

_“I would like to believe that, Jake,” he said. “Truly I would. But let me tell you what I think the likelier scenario. The press would call for Garak’s head. And not just the far-right press – even more liberal media would be appalled at his depravity. Everything he has done as Castellan would be looked at in a new light. His closeness to the Federation, his promotion of civil rights, his removal of censorship laws – all would be seen as the actions of a scheming deviant seeking to import Federation-style decadence to Cardassia. I have no doubt that impeachment proceedings again Garak would be put in motion in the Assembly. It is quite possible they would succeed. Even if they did not, Garak’s authority would be fatally undermined, he would spend the rest of his term as a, what do you call it, a lame duck.”_

_Parmak stopped, drew a deep breath, and went on._

_“And come the next election, who knows who would take power? A scandal like this would provide ample ammunition for those who say that Cardassia has lost sight of its true nature, and who call for a return to the old ways. Back to ‘moral purity’, to strong government, military might, imperialism… The thing is, Jake. You say Elim is popular. It is true, the people approve of him. Some may even like him. But few, if any, truly trust him. Nobody has forgotten his past occupation. For the moment, they are happy because they believe his deviousness and calculation is being used for their benefit. But if this were to come out… Well, everyone knows you can never trust an invert.”_

_“So that’s it?” Jake asked. “You’re just going to let the laws stand? Let people like you be arrested, imprisoned, treated as pariahs? Because it’s politically risky, you’ll do nothing?”_

_“We are NOT doing nothing!” Parmak shouted, slapped his hand against the tabletop, hard enough that the cups on it jumped. “We are doing as much as we can,” he continued more quietly. “Chief Constable Mhevet of the Union Capital police thinks as we do, and she has done her best to minimize the number of this type of investigation. We are using back channels to quietly fund the few organisations that offer some support to people like me. We are importing media from the Federation that depict same-sex attraction in a positive light. It is a slow process, but I believe it will eventually pay off. But that is only if Elim and people like him continue to lead our society.”_

_Jake bit his lip. The words were bubbling up inside him, and he was trying to decide if they should, if they could be said. And then they were._

_“I think you’re cowards.”_

_This time, Parmak did not look shocked. His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched the armrests of his chair. He opened his mouth, and Jake jumped in before the other man could respond._

_“You and Garak. You’re so scared of losing your position. So convinced that only you can save Cardassia, that you’re willing to throw everyone else to the wolves to stay on top. OK, fine, if you out yourselves there will be trouble. You and Garak might even lose your power – because it is your power too, isn’t it, Castellan’s Shadow? But it might be what this society needs to shake it out of its complacency. You’re scared that the hardliners will win. Well maybe they will. But maybe it will also force other Cardassians, the ones who think of themselves as decent, progressive people, to actually start confronting their own prejudices. If you want to make change, you have to take risks. My father taught me that. Do you know how often he risked his career to do what was right? He put his neck on the line for so many people – for Doctor Bashir, for Odo, for Kira, for Garak. I can only imagine what he would have to say to you now.”_

_As Jake finished, Parmak fixed him with his gaze and spoke._

_“How dare you.”_

_It was not shouted, or snarled. In fact, Parmak’s voice was barely above a whisper._

_“Do you know what we were taught about the Federation, in the old days? We were taught you were arrogant and condescending, that you talked piously about diversity but showed no tolerance for societies with values different from yours. When I hear you now, it is all too easy to see why they said that. No, Jake, don’t interrupt me, you have said your piece, and I will say mine. You talk about persecution. What do you know about it? Do you think I need you to tell me how inverts are treated on Cardassia? I may have a privileged position now, but most of my life has been spent in secrecy and terror. I have been insulted, spat upon, arrested, beaten. And you call me a coward? Well, perhaps I am. But if I am, I have learned from bitter experience the cost of thoughtless courage. I was very brave, back in the old days. I acted as if I led some sort of charmed life, as if nothing could touch me. I scarcely bothered to conceal anything – my dissidence, my… preferences. Oh, I had believed I was taking precautions. But now I know that the only reason I was not arrested much earlier was that I was simply not important enough to be noticed. Until I trusted the wrong person, loved the wrong man. And then it was over.”_

_Parmak fell silent for a moment, staring down at his hands. As he had finished speaking, his face had moved from anger to sorrow. Jake considered answering him back, trying to argue, but something stopped him._

_“And if I have learned to be cautious, so much more so has Cardassia. We have experienced war, occupation, near-annihilation. On the day of the Fire, 800 million people were killed, and the death toll only rose in the aftermath. In total, we lost more than forty percent of our population. And then, we had to build anew, create a society from the ground up that avoided the mistakes of the old. I think that is quite enough change for one generation! Is it any surprise that people cling to the few certainties they have left?”_

_Parmak paused to breathe, then went on in a gentler tone_

_“Jake,” he said, “do you really think I’m not frustrated? Can you imagine how much I wish, how much Elim wishes, that we could simply order the persecution to stop? To alter the laws by fiat, and enforce tolerance with an iron rod? But then we would have become precisely the kind of government against which we fought.”_

_Jake sighed. He no longer felt angry. All he felt now was a kind of hopeless sadness. There was logic in what Parmak said, he knew that. But it also felt horribly, unacceptably wrong._

_“But how long?” he asked. “How long will it take your way, with your surveys and your Federation media? How many people like – like you will need to suffer?”_

_Parmak shrugged._

_“I wish I could say,” he said. “I truly wish I could say.”_

_“But maybe it won’t matter,” Jake said suddenly. “The article. The questions, if you answer them._ Focus _is a Federation journal. And don’t tell my editor I said this, but we’re not exactly the_ Times of Andor _. There are asteroids with bigger populations than our readership. Will anyone on Cardassia even see this?”_

_“Eventually, yes,” Parmak replied. “It may not be immediate, but even your little magazine will eventually make it to Cardassia. And when it does, the reactionaries will make sure that it is translated and spread as wide as it possibly can be.”_

_Jake leaned back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. After a moment, he let them fal and said: “You realise I could just print everything you’ve said.”_

_Parmak nodded._

_“You could. I cannot stop you. Nor would I, if I could. I can only ask you not to.”_

_The door chimed._

_Jake jumped, and Parmak said “come in,” hoarsely._

_The door opened to reveal Topal, accompanied by a short Cardassian carrying a holocamera in one hand and a bulging canvas bag in the other. Jake swore inwardly. He had forgotten the holoshoot. The magazine had wanted some holos of Parmak to accompany the article, and one of the stipulations of the Castellan’s office was that they be taken by one of their own people._

_“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Topal said apologetically._

_Jake shook his head wordlessly._

_“No,” Parmak said._

_Topal glanced at them both quizzically, as the holographer began unpacking a bag of equipment. Then the aide gave a small shrug and slipped out._

_The holo session was largely a blur for Jake. The holographer took a ridiculously large number of pictures of Parmak in various poses – Parmak sipping tea, Parmak cleaning his glasses, Parmak staring into space, Parmak reading a book. That was the only time Parmak spoke. He looked at the book Topal handed him and said,_

_“This isn’t mine.”_

_The holographer shrugged and said, “The Castellan asked for it specifically.”_

_“That explains it,” Parmak replied. “It’s very much his sort of thing.”_

_When it was over, the holographer nodded to them both, packed up the equipment, and left. Jake and Parmak eyed each other warily, each unsure what to say. Parmak broke the silence first._

_“How does it feel, Jake Sisko,” he asked, gesturing to the recorder on the table, “to hold the fate of a civilisation in your hands?”_

_Jake swallowed, and could not find an answer._

_“I never knew your father,” Parmak went on. “But Elim speaks of him as a man of great integrity, courage, and nobility. I believe that he would be proud of his son’s commitment to the truth.”_

_“I hope so,” Jake said. “I – I really don’t know what he would say. I wish I did, he always seemed to find the way out. The middle path between terrible choices. I hear what you say, Doctor Parmak. I really do. But you have to understand, in the Federation patience with Cardassia is wearing thin. There are plenty of people who remember the Border Wars, and the Dominion alliance, and Dukat. Plenty who think that all this talk of a new, democratic Cardassia is nothing but a smokescreen. And these laws look like a pretty big signal that everything hasn’t really changed. If they could know what you thought, that you’re at least trying…”_

_Jake trailed off. Parmak said nothing._

_“I need to go,” Jake finally said. “My shuttle leaves in an hour.”_

_Parmak nodded._

_“Have a good trip, Jake,” he said. “I know you will do what you think best.”_

_He offered his hand, and Jake, not knowing what else to do, shook it._

 

“End of recording.”

Jake was jerked back to the present by the computer’s voice. He opened his eyes and groaned. Then he pulled himself off the sofa and wandered over to his desk. He looked at the screen, reading the last sentence he had typed: You cannot ask me this.

“Dammit,” Jake swore softly.

His eyes moved across the desk, coming to rest on a picture of his father. It had been taken just after the baseball game against Solok. Benjamin Sisko was still in his team uniform: the holo had caught him in the midst of a laugh, his head tilted back and his eyes crinkled.

“What would you do?” Jake asked the picture.

If his father heard him from the Celestial Temple, the Prophets did not grant him the power to reply.

Jake’s gaze moved to the next picture on the desk. It was his favourite picture of himself and Nog, taken during Nog’s shore leave a few years ago. The two of them stood atop a stony ridge, a stark mountainside rising up behind them. Both the human and the Ferengi wore plaid shirts, shorts, and hiking boots. Jake’s arm was around Nog’s shoulders, and the other man’s head rested against Jake’s ribs.

Jake looked over his shoulder at the door that led from his office to their bedroom. Nog wasn’t there, of course; he was still on assignment somewhere in the Velara Sector. Jake looked back at the photo. He tried to imagine what it would be like not to be able to live with Nog, to visit him only in secret, to watch every word and every gesture in public for fear of giving himself away. That had been Parmak’s life. Garak’s too. And, Jake supposed, the lives of many people on Cardassia right now.

Jake sighed again, sat down, and buried his head in his hands, and stayed that way for some time. Then, finally, he straightened up.

“Computer,” he said. “Locate statement by Jake Sisko, “ ‘reforming Cardassian law’”

“Statement located.”

“Delete recording following that statement.”

There was a short pause, and then the computer spoke again.

“This file has not been backed up. All deleted material will be permanently lost. Are you sure you wish to proceed?”

Jake took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said.

“Working. Data deleted.”

Jake closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened them. What did he have now? Well, Parmak’s reminiscences, he supposed. That was a fascinating story in its own right. Not the hard-hitting exposé he’d hoped for, but the story of a humble Cardassian doctor who fought for freedom against the odds? That’d still sell. It wouldn’t satisfy the doubters, though. Cardassia would remain suspect in the minds of all too many readers. And Parmak, talking about freedom and democracy while Cardassians were arrested for who they loved, would seem like the worst kind of hypocrite. Jake wasn’t even sure that he wasn’t.

Then why did you do what he asked? a small voice in Jake’s mind asked.

He had no idea what the answer was.

He sighed again and, to distract himself, began looking through the pictures that the Cardassian holographer had taken. He flicked through them idly. Parmak with tea. Parmak with his cane. Parmak with book. Parmak with legs crossed.

_Wait._

Jake flicked back and stared at the picture. Parmak was sitting in the armchair, book open, apparently engrossed in what he was reading. Jake frowned, reached out, and magnified the picture so he could read the title of the book.

It was not written in Cardassian. Instead, gold English letters ran down the spine: _The Ballad of Reading Gaol._

“That son of a bitch,” Jake said.

It was a message, it had to be. Not a loud one. That wasn’t Garak’s style. But a message, nonetheless.

“Son of a bitch,” Jake said again.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and leaned forward to start writing.


End file.
